


James Tiberius Kirk Loves Dylan Marlais Thomas

by Taverl



Series: Dead Poets Society [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taverl/pseuds/Taverl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death certainly has a way of putting life in perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This is the sequel to James Tiberius Kirk Hates Alfred Lord Tennyson. You don't have to have read the first part to understand this one, though it might be helpful.
> 
>  **Acknowledgements:** Look, bug, I fixed it! (Kinda.) :D Huge thanks to all the lovely Word Warriors at the Jim  & Bones Livejournal community for encouragement and support. Even more thanks and wine (lots and lots of wine) to ken_ichijouji for beta. Any and all mistakes are mine.

"And death shall have no dominion."

Too bad Thomas never met Leonard McCoy.

It takes Jim months to sort it all out, to separate the end from the middle from the beginning, figure out the what, when and where.

And while it would be wrong to say Jim no longer fears death, he no longer fears being dead. 

Been there, done that, got the body bag.

While there were no happy reunions with his father, his grandparents or Pike – at least that he can remember – there wasn't oblivion, either. In retrospect, he would compare it to those warm afternoons when he and Sam would take a couple of old inner tubes down to the river and float along on its gentle current without a care in the world. 

Death was dark and filled with every color in every spectrum, silent and a riot of sound, without feeling and full of sensation. It was floating down an infinitely long, infinitely lazy river with "nowhere to go and all day to get there," as Grandpa Ti used to say. And while has no recollection of anybody else being there with him, he was never lonely, as if everyone he ever loved was just outside the range of his vision and all he had to do was turn his head to speak with them.

It was blissful peace, pure contentment, and Jim thinks a part of him will always miss it.

No, being dead was nothing to fear.

Dying, however, sucked ass.

It's not the pain, though it was excruciating and he never needs to feel his lungs collapsing as they fill with blood ever again. It's the knowledge of the imminent separation and that he was leaving so many people he loved behind that tore at his soul.

Even worse was the regret for things done and undone, words said and unsaid.

Bones, Mom, Sam, Bones, Pike, Spock, Bones, Uhura, Bones, Scotty, Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones...

Always Bones.

The small part of his brain that wasn't occupied with dealing with the pain and the fear was gibbering at him that he wanted Bones with him, but when heard Scotty's muffled voice talking frantically about calling Sickbay, Jim mustered what little strength he had left and told him to call Spock instead.

Bones was probably up to his elbows in some poor crewmember whose life depended on those talented hands. Jim knew he was a dead man, and as much as he wanted to see Bones's face one last time, he also wanted to spare him. The door to the warp chamber was deadlocked – hah, punny – and not even a captain's override could open it until the decontamination cycle had completed. All Bones would have been able to do was sit on the other side of the glass and helplessly watch Jim die.

Instead, he focused on Spock, who, despite everything, had become a great friend. Of all the adjectives he'd ever use to describe the half-Vulcan, "comforting" was not one of them. But even as he raged against the dying of the light, Spock's presence proved soothing. And when he took that last, agonized breath, he was satisfied he'd done the right thing.

So, dying is horrific and he recommends putting it off for as long as possible.

Being dead is blissful and while he's in no hurry to repeat the experience any time soon, he knows nobody can avoid it forever. So he gives it an excellent grade: A+, would be dead again.

But resurrection?

He's still on the fence about that one.

Not about being alive again, because there's still far too much to be done in his second shot at life to regret a single moment spent living it. But the actual process of being pulled from the realm of the dead into the land of the living makes you reevaluate the life you had before. Because apparently you don't get a greatest-hits version of your life when you're dying, only when you're coming back to life, and during that highlight reel, Jim found himself questioning everything.

And he does mean everything. Every action, every decision, every thought, every emotion, every damned thing he'd ever done.

Or not done, as the case may be. 

Did he tell his mother he loved her as often as he should have? Could he have done more to repair his relationship with Sam? Did Pike ever know just how important his support meant to Jim? Why didn't he take the time to apologize to Gaila and let her know he never meant to take advantage of her? Did Spock understand how much Jim had come to rely on him, both as a friend and a brother-in-arms? Aside from his last, desperate act, had he always put his crew's best interests before his own?

Was Bones really better off for them never taken a chance at something more?

A whirlwind of voices accompanied those and so many other questions, a continuous stream of self-doubt that lasted seconds or days or millennia, he couldn't tell. Eventually, one voice rose above the others, harsh and broken and always saying the same thing.

"I should've been with you."

Another endless stretch passed and the familiar voices began to fade as other sounds emerged: footsteps, rustling fabric, mechanical noises.

"I should've been with you."

Sensation. Soft cloth brushing his knees and his feet. Vibrations under his back and hands.

"I should've been with you."

Pain, muted and distant.

"I should've been with you."

Pressure on his shoulder, faint but noticeable.

"I should've been with you."

Dampness on his shoulder where the pressure had been earlier. The moisture cooling as the air hits it.

"I should've been with you."

Bones.

Why is Bones here? Is he dead, too?

The thought panics Jim for reasons he can't understand. Jim was happy in death and knows Bones would be, too. So why does the idea of Bones being dead frighten him so much now? 

Maybe it's because, apparently, wherever he was before, he's not there now and all that fear he'd felt as his body gave out on him comes rushing back, threatening to overwhelm him.

Terror, doubt, pain...there were none of those things in the other place, and he wants to go back to it so badly he feels like he may start crying.

He doesn't want to be here and, most importantly, he doesn't want Bones stuck here with him.

He tries to reach out and reassure himself that it's just some kind of aural hallucination, that Bones isn't here in this nightmare, but his limbs won't obey his mind's command. He tries to call out, but his voice is choked off by something blocking his lips. He realizes the same thing is also in his mouth, down his throat and he tries to raise his arms to remove it, but he still can't move. Opening his eyes proves impossible as they're covered by something wrapped around his head. He needs to know that Bones is safe, away from here, but he's so very, very weak.

He pauses for a moment and tries to muster his strength before making another effort to speak, move, anything. He tries to take a deep breath, suddenly confused as to why he'd need to do such a thing. He'd stopped breathing ages ago, hadn't he? Struggling against whatever is blocking his airway, he once more tries to call out. If he could just know Bones was OK...

"Jim! Jim, you're all right. You need to just calm down."

No, Nononononono... As much as his chest aches at hearing that beloved voice again, he's terrified. Maybe it's an illusion, a hallucination making him think Bones is trapped in this hell with him.

Maybe he's actually in hell and this is one of the torments he has to suffer: knowing that he'd dragged Bones down with him. Gathering his meager strength, he tries to roll his head and remove the bandage over his eyes.

"You're in Starfleet Medical. You're going to be fine, but you have to relax, dammit." That's the Bones he knows and loves and the urge to weep is almost overwhelming. "Your eyes are still healing and we need to keep them covered. Try to just calm down. Please, Jim."

He ignores Bones's comment about healing – how do you heal the dead? – and continues to struggle to move his arms, to speak, to do anything to figure out where he is and what is happening. He hears a noise by his ear, senses something near him, but doesn't register what's going on until Bones speaks again.

"I've given you a sedative. Please try to relax, Jim. You're doing so well, but you still have a long way to go, and..." The barely-there touch of fingers across his forehead registers just as he starts to feel his body relax, his mind slow. "Please, Jim. I need you to get better."

His last thought before he surrenders to the darkness is that only Leonard McCoy would manage to bring his hyposprays with him into the afterlife.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time awareness returns, Jim's eyes are still covered, but whatever was blocking his mouth and throat is gone. However, the pain remains, hovering in the background as if it's just waiting to overwhelm him. He remembers this feeling from multiple visits to Sickbay: the far-off ache in his bones and muzziness in his head that tells him he's on powerful painkillers. The memory is reinforced by the sounds of monitoring equipment and distant voices, the smell of antiseptic.

So, his heart tells him that he was thoroughly enjoying a very pleasant death, and his head tells him he's currently suffering through a very unpleasant life.

What the fuck?

A disappointed groan escapes his lips, sounding weak and tattered as if it was catching on the dry roughness of his throat and tongue. He suddenly realizes his mouth is desert dry and foul-tasting, teeth sticking to the insides of his cheeks and lips. This brings to mind the long, lazy river of death, and he wishes he was back there, if only to be able to dip his head in its waters and quench his thirst.

The touch of something moist and cool against his lips interrupts his musings and he instinctively opens his mouth, desperate for anything to soothe the dryness.

"It's just a hydration swab, I'm afraid." Bones says as he gently coats the inside of Jim's mouth with gel. "Your digestive system is still too...delicate for anything else right now." His voice sounds as if it's choked with all the things Bones can't give voice to and Jim's brain is spinning with so many questions, he has no idea where to start.

"Try swallowing now," Bones instructs, and Jim does as he's told. At least he tries to, but his throat doesn't seem to want to cooperate and he chokes, making him cough. It's barely more than clearing his throat, but the pain tears through his throat, chest, abdomen as he convulses and his eyes water. It's shocking just how such a little thing can hurt so badly, as he finally stops coughing and lays there, exhausted and panting. He barely notices the sting of the hypospray and focuses instead on the sound of Bones's voice

"I'm sorry, Jim, so sorry. I should've known it was too soon. You're just doing so well..." Jim opens his mouth to tell Bones that it's not his fault, but Bones cuts him off. "Don't try to talk, Jim. Just rest and let the serum work."

He wants to know where he is and what's going on and what the hell Bones is talking about. And while he thinks he should feel guilty for wanting Bones stuck here with him, mainly Jim wants Bones to keep talking to him, letting him know he's not alone.

As if he'd read his mind, Bones says, "It's OK, Jim. I'm here. I'm with you now." He lays his hand gently on Jim's forearm and Jim drifts off again.

\---

He's starting to believe he's actually alive.

It's the only logical explanation for what he's been hearing and feeling and...

...seeing?

Whatever had been covering his eyes appears to be gone and he can see a faint light even though his closed lids. It takes more effort than he cares to admit to open his eyes just a sliver only to slam them shut again when the brightness sends a stabbing pain directly into his skull.

Several attempts later, the room around him finally begins to come into focus. It takes too much effort to move his head, but before his eyes can begin to catalog his surroundings, he hears the sound of running feet. Bones rushes into the room, shoes skidding on the floor as he makes the turn through the doorway.

"Jim!" He slows down enough to keep from crashing into the biobed as he hurries to Jim's bedside. He stares at Jim, eyes wide and awestruck and Jim feels his own eyes overflow as he looks into that familiar face. "Jim..." Bones keeps his eyes locked with Jim's, his hands coming up to Jim's face, but not touching him, as if he's afraid to make physical contact.

"Hi." Jim's voice sounds like he's been gargling sand, but it's still loud enough for Bones to hear as the other man sucks in a startled breath and his eyes get even wider.

"Jim..." His voice sounds choked and he continues to stare, as if he can't believe what he's seeing. If Jim had any doubts as to whether he's alive or dead, the wonder and love in Bones's eyes have put them to rest.

Bones's hands continue to flit over Jim's body like restless moths until he finally reaches for the tricorder on the nearby table and begins scanning Jim from head to toe, the tremor in his hand visible even to Jim's watery eyes. Bones is focused on the machine's readouts as he scans Jim's abdomen and Jim just stares as his profile, trying to keep his eyes open in fear that Bones will disappear if Jim even blinks. He can't control it when his eyes slip shut, forcing the tears to overflow. Thankfully, Bones is still there and Jim's tears come even faster. He studies Bones for a moment, noticing the several days' worth of beard shadowing his jaw, almost as dark as the circles under his eyes. He looks pale and drawn, washed out even further by the bleached brightness of his white tunic.

Another attempt to speak is fruitless since Jim's throat is parched and raw. He soundlessly repeats Bones's name as he tries to reach out and touch the other man's hand, his sleeve, anything. Bones must notice the movement from the corner of his eye because he looks up, reaching out as if to grasp Jim's arm but hesitating like he did earlier.

He finally looks at Jim once more. "Shit. Sorry, Jim. Gimme a second." He disappears from Jim's line of sight for a moment only to return with a cup of ice and a spoon, which he uses to feed Jim a few chips of ice. "Slowly, Jim. You're still not...your swallow reflex may be damaged."

Jim lets the ice melt on his tongue and the feeling of finally getting some moisture into his mouth is blissful. Swallowing is difficult, be he manages to do so without choking again. "Good. That's good, Jim. Really good." Bones looks pleased, and feeds him another spoonful of ice, his eyes still darting from Jim's mouth to the readouts by the bed to the IV's snaking into Jim's arms.

"Bones..." Jim manages to croak out. He watches as Bones gasps and straightens from where he'd been leaning over the side of the biobed, his face losing what little color it had while he stares at Jim as if he still can't believe his eyes.

"I didn't...I never..." Bones takes a shuddering breath, almost a sob. "I thought nobody would ever call me that again." His face is the very picture of desolation and loss and Jim feels his heart shatter as he recalls all those questions and doubts that had assailed him during his last minutes.

_I should've been with you._

Jim remembers hearing those words, desperate and infinitely sad, over and over as he slowly floated back towards the land of the living. He watches Bones turn away and resume his scanning, reaching out every so often as if he's going to touch Jim, only to pull away sharply, as if he's somehow not allowed.

Jim wonders if Bones thinks he _isn't_ allowed to touch him in any way that isn't clinical, not simply because he wants to. If Bones believes he can't touch Jim tenderly, intimately, it's because Jim spent years trying to make Bones believe just that.

Bones looks disconsolate, wrecked, and he can't even bring himself to touch Jim because Jim's spent so many years pushing him away. The distance between them hasn't lessened the pain Bones feels, it hasn't given him comfort or made him feel better.

This distance has made him feel so very much worse.

Jim swears his whole body goes numb for a moment before the realization of what he's done to Bones comes crashing down. And it hurts. God, it hurts more than dying because this time it's all his fault.

He needs to apologize, tell Bones he's sorry for causing him so much pain, tell him how wrong it was to let his own fears keep them apart. He doesn't know if Bones will ever forgive him – and Jim won't blame him if he doesn't. How could Bones ever forgive Jim for years of pushing him away and pretending to be ignorant of the fact that Bones was in love with him?

Jim didn't just break Bones's heart, he broke it over and over and over again. He broke it every time he pulled away when Bones got close, every time he ignored Bones in order to flirt with whatever woman, man or alien caught his eye. How could Bones even stand to _look_ at Jim after everything he's done?

Why has Bones stayed when all Jim has ever done is make him miserable? He'd be better off if he left and found someone who wouldn't throw his love back in his face. For his own good, he should leave.

_Please, Bones, don't leave._

Far off, he registers the sounds of an alarm blaring, the sound of footsteps and the chatter of anxious voices. Some part of Jim's brain realizes he's panicking, but he doesn't care, because he has to apologize. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he needs Bones to know.

"Please don't go...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, sorry...don't go...Bones, please, I'm _so_ sorry. Don't go..." He's mouthing the words, but again his voice is absent. 

"Jim! Jim, what's wrong? Calm down, please." Bones grasps Jim's wrist lightly and Jim turns his hand over to clutch at the other man's fingers, holding on as tightly has his weak hands will allow.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry...don't go...don't leave me...I'm sorry...I love you...please forgive me...please don't go..." Jim still can't hear is own voice, but he can at least feel Bones's fingers tighten around his.

"Shhh...it's OK, Jim. Just try to calm down. Breathe slowly. It'll be all right." Bones's words cut through some of Jim's panic and he can feel his body start to weaken, what little energy he had now exhausted.

"Love you, love you...love you so much. Sorry, sorry...don't go..." Fatigue gradually replaces the fear that had gripped him earlier even as sleep begins to overtake him. "Love you, Bones...love you...please don't go...don't go..."

Jim feels Bones's fingers gently brushing against his forehead and down the side of his face, cupping Jim's cheek with his palm. Jim turns his face into Bones's hand, lips brushing against the other man's palm as he continues with his silent litany. "I'm sorry, so sorry...forgive me...love you...love you so much...Bones..."

Bones softly runs his thumb against Jim's face and Jim hears his voice, quiet and choked. "I'm here, Jim. I'm here now. It'll be OK."

Jim finally succumbs to sleep, knowing that Bones will still be there when he wakes.

END


End file.
